


True North

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Background Speculation, Canon Divergent, Canon Typical Violence, Character Study, Even The Bits That Were Show Canon Became Divergent, First Meetings, Gen, Making Up Tarot Cards For Fun And No Profit, Molly Is A Seer And The Moonweaver Has An Eye On Him, Some Very Very In The Background Briefly Mentioned Yasha/Jester/Beau, Yasha and Molly Are Totally Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: 5 times Yasha finds Molly, and one time Molly finds her. I can't say it any better than that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So now that we know a more about Molly and Yasha, I thought it was time to write a fic that incorporated that knowledge into it, complete with all new headcanons. This fic replaces "A Light Through an Open Window", in terms of my personal headcanons, how Molly and Yasha met, and *actually* answers the question of how Yasha keeps finding Molly. (In my old fic he asks, and she never does answer him.)
> 
> Bits of times 4 and 5 actually happened in the show, and are retold here from Yasha's point of view and with added dialogue.

**1.**

Yasha knows the difference between dreams that were just dreams and actual visions, and what she is having now? It is a vision, not heavy enough to be the past, not insubstantial or hazy enough to be the future. She can nearly feel the ground underneath her feet, almost smell the air of the forest, of the freshly broken earth in front of her. This is the present.

There’s a lavender tiefling sitting by the hole in the ground, knees drawn up to his chin, arms wrapped around himself, tail curved around his feet. He’s naked and dirty, his fingernails cracked and broken, and Yasha knows with complete certainty that whoever this is, they’ve just clawed their way out of the ground. Buried alive, because he _is_ alive, Yasha knows what the undead look like in their many forms, and the stranger doesn’t have any of those marks. He has other marks that she can see, red eyes on his hand and an eye on his neck and his arm. She doesn’t know what they are, what they mean.

Yasha takes a few more steps before kneeling in front of the tiefling, getting a closer look at him. She senses he’s important, the knowledge coming to her in the sudden, bone deep way she’s learned to trust over the years. Important to whom, or to what, she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the way he’s shaking so hard that his teeth are clicking together, or the look of fear in his eyes as they stare out through her, but she’s struck by a sudden, powerful desire to protect him. The feeling surprises her. It’s not that she lacks empathy for strangers in distress, far from it, but this feels different. Looking at him is like looking at a friend who is hurt.

“Oh, there you are,” Yasha says, as if he was someone she had been waiting for, someone she had been separated from and was glad to see again.“Who are you?” The question is futile. She’s not there. He stares past her, and Yasha wonders if this was how she herself had looked after she had first been brought out of the dark and freed from her chains.

“Empty.” The tiefling’s voice is a dry rattle, like the dirt from his grave has stuck in his throat. As Yasha watches, tears begin to stream from his eyes, cutting tracks in the dirt as they trail down his face.

Yasha reaches out to wipe away the tears before remembering, yet again, that she isn’t really there.

“Empty,” the tiefling says again, and Yasha realizes with a start that the tiefling is no longer looking through her, he’s looking _at_ her, his eyes actually focused on her face. “Empty.”

In the instant before Yasha wakes up, she swears she feels a hand on her chest, hears something being whispered in her ear. It’s not the Stormlord’s voice, she knows that voice very well, the thundering rumble of it. This voice is different, cold and crystalline, moonlight given speech. She doesn’t understand what it says, can’t parse it, then her open eyes staring up into the sky, at the full moon above her, and she is alone. After a long moment she sits up. After an even longer moment she stands and gathers her few things. She won’t be sleeping anymore tonight.

Yasha had camped by a fork in the path, and now she stands there again, trying to decide which path to take, left or right. She takes a few steps down the left path and feels slightly off balance, as if she were a compass needle swinging, trying to re-position itself. It’s a new sensation, and one she doesn’t entirely understand. She was used to little mental nudges when she was being guided by divine force, not strange dizzy feelings that seemed to be coming from just under her breastbone.

Yasha waits until the dizzy feeling subsides, then takes another few steps down the left hand path. The dizzy feeling doesn’t return, but she gets the distinct impression that her inner compass, as it were, is pointed in a different direction than she is facing. But what is it pointing towards?

Yasha turns towards the path on her right and begins walking down it, the tiefling’s only word echoing in her ears.

Yasha finds the grave two days later, looking exactly like it had in her dreams. There is no sign of the lavender tiefling anywhere, alive or dead, but she is not surprised by that. She knows what her inner compass is pointing towards now. Or rather, who.

**2.**

It’s at least a year and a half before Yasha sees the lavender tiefling in person and not just in fragments of dreams. Her time is not her own, has not been her own since the Stormlord delivered her from the hell she had been in, a price she gladly pays every day, but it means that traveling towards a specific destination is often very slow going. Still, throughout the entire journey, she’s known which direction to go.

Yasha had watched the carnival tents go up, had seen people of all sorts milling about, but her eyes had only been for one person, the lavender tiefling with his bright coat and his horns full of jewelry. She’s been dreaming of him occasionally, always waking up with that sense that he’s important, and that he needs to be protected. Yasha’s allegiance is to the Stormlord first and foremost, and this feeling doesn’t feel like it comes from him. She could ignore it if she wanted, even though there might consequences for that. The thing is though, she doesn’t _want_ to ignore the feeling, and she’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Yasha had planned on asking for a job at the carnival. It would be easier to keep an eye on the tiefling that way, the job would still allow her to travel, and she had heard carnival folk were eclectic. Maybe no one would even notice her comings and goings. She hasn’t made her way to the carnival proper, however. For the last hour or so the tiefling has been telling fortunes to the townsfolk that have been passing by on the outskirts of the town, and Yasha’s been standing just far away that she can still hear him, but not close enough to bring attention to herself, she hopes.

“Copper for your thoughts?” The tiefling’s smile is bright and sharp, his voice smooth and rounded, like river stones.

Well. So much for that.

Yasha hasn’t actually planned out what she was going to say to him, when they finally met. _You look better than the first time I saw you? You’ve grown your hair out, looks nice? I’m glad you’ve learned to say more than one word?_ _So, I always know what direction to go in to find you, any ideas about that?_

Yasha realizes the tiefling is staring at her still, this time with something like recognition and confusion in his expression for just a moment before the smile slides back into place. “This is going to sound really weird, but I feel like I’ve met you in a dream, or something.”

Well, that’s a conversation starter if she ever heard one. “You’re right, that _is_ weird,” Yasha says as she walks over and sits cross legged in the grass, in front of his colorful coat which is laid out before him. She remembers the first time she saw him, a year and a half ago, the vision and how he had looked at her, _seen_ her at the end of it. It’s possible he’s got some touch of the seeing gift, that his ability to tell fortunes isn’t all cold reading and misdirection. “I like weird.”

The tiefling laughs. The colors of the peacock tattoo gracing his face and neck are vibrant, and Yasha can only pick out the one red eye on his neck amongst all the purple and green because she knows to look for it. “Then you and I will get along just fine. My name’s Mollymauk, Mollymauk Tealeaf, Molly to my friends.”

It’s good to have a name to go with the face, finally. “I’m Yasha. Just Yasha.” She’d had a surname once, she was sure of it, but the memory of it was as worn and faded as what her parents had looked like.

“Well, Yasha, you’ve been watching me for an hour now. Have you decided if I’m a lying demon that needs to meet a gruesome end on the blade of your sword there, or were you just trying to assess my fortune-telling skills?” He says all that with a grin and a laugh in his voice, his eyes shining, but Yasha sees his left hand twitch towards the scimitars belted at his waist, and his tail lashes behind him in agitation or warning. She notices the scars on his hands, on his chest. Did he have those before, or had she just not seen them when he had been covered in dirt?

Yasha raises an eyebrow. “People try to kill you often enough that that’s a question?”

Molly shrugs. “Mostly it’s just insults, but there’s been one or two folks that have been a little more… zealous. Can never be too careful.”

“That’s true,” Yasha replies. She knows she’s lucky that her heritage isn’t immediately obvious to the casual observer, because common folk tend to act oddly around people with Celestial blood. “I was just admiring your skills. Is it true, the things you tell them?”

Molly grins, giving his cards a shuffle. “True? If it wasn’t, would I tell you? People don’t get their fortunes read because they want to know the truth of things. They want a show, a story, they want to believe in something other than themselves. Call it destiny, call it fate, call it the will of the gods, they want to believe that the universe has a path set out for them. I just point them toward the path. They leave me feeling happier than when they came, and with a bit more hope, and that’s a steal at two copper, if I do say so.”

Yasha takes the hint, and not just because it’s an excuse to be around Molly. She fishes out two copper pieces from her coin purse and places them into Molly’s palm.

Molly pockets the coins with a smile and begins shuffling his cards again. “Excellent. So, what would you like to know? What direction your love life is headed maybe? That’s a popular one.”

 _“_ No,” Yasha says quickly. “I don’t… have time for that.” It’s true enough, because she _doesn’t_ have time for romance, and what few casual hookups she’s had have just taught her that casual is not a thing that’s for her.

“Well, who does?” Molly says easily. “Could do past/present/future, that’s fairly standard.”

“I know my past,” Yasha says, feeling her hands curling into fists at the memories and forcing herself to relax them. “I don’t need the cards to tell me that. I lived it.”

There’s a beat of silence before Molly speaks again. Yasha will remember that pause a month from now, when Molly tells her that he has no memories from before he woke up in the ground. At the time though there was just the pause and the smile. Always the smile.

“You’re a challenge! This is simply delightful.” Molly sounds like he means it. “How about….hmmmm.” He ceases shuffling, tapping a finger against the deck thoughtfully. Yasha can see the head of the snake tattoo that looks like it’s swallowing his hand. The snake has red eyes. “Who you are, where you are, and where you’re headed? Basically, know yourself, know your present, know your future. Still simple, has a bit of a flair to it. Does that suit?”

“All right,” Yasha replies, even though she could argue that she knows herself as well as she knows her own past.

“Wonderful!” Molly shuffles the cards for another long moment, and for a second Yasha thinks she sees a flicker of something behind the smile. Curiosity? Worry? It’s gone too fast for Yasha to parse properly.

“Let’s see who you are,” Molly says cheerfully, and lays the first card down.

The card shows a figure of indeterminate gender walking down a path, a blindfold tied around their eyes. There are red strings tied around their wrists, the end of the left string trailing back along the path, while the end of the right string is pulled taut ahead of the figure, as if someone unseen is leading them. The card is split in half, the left depicting a garden bathed in light, the other half a swirl of stars. It’s beautiful, and Yasha has no idea what it means.

“Ha! I should have guessed,” Molly says with a grin. “Destiny’s Wanderer.” He taps the figure. “Blind to the path before them, but still walking it without fear, head held high, the strings of fate both trailing behind them and leading them on. The path they walk is between the mortal realms and the divine ones, and the Wanderer has a foot in both of those worlds. A card that speaks of a dual nature, but a balanced one.”

Yasha tries to tell herself that it’s obvious she’s a traveler, one look at her worn boots and the road dust on her clothes could tell someone that. And yet, she wonders.

Molly’s looking at her. “I’d hate to play poker against you,” he says. “Your face doesn’t give anything away.”

Yasha permits herself a small smile. “I don’t know how to play,” she admits.

“Someone should teach you,” Molly says. “You’d be a terror at the table, I’m sure. Now, let’s see what you’re influenced by.” He draws a card, placing it over the first.

The card is as simple as the other card was complex. It shows a sky filled with black and gray clouds, lightning streaking through rain, blue white and bright against the dark of the background.

“The Storm. Well, that’s appropriate.” Molly looks up and Yasha follows his gaze. There are indeed storm clouds headed their way, and Yasha can just begin to smell rain in the air.

“The Storm contains power and fury and strength in equal measure, possible destruction, but the rain symbolizes cleansing, renewal. Another card that speaks of a dual nature.”

Well, that’s less coincidental to be sure. The Stormlord’s holy symbol that she wears is safely tucked away, lest she be branded a heretic by the Empire. Yasha can hear the low rumble of thunder, but it’s a long way off yet.

“Now for your present….” Molly draws another card, places it next to the first two. It shows a circular maze, or is it a labyrinth? Yasha isn’t sure of the difference, herself. Her eyes try to trace the path, which seems to move and shift under her gaze. She blinks hard, feeling a little dizzy.

“The Labyrinth,” Molly is saying, and that answers Yasha’s question. “I’m sensing a theme.” He taps the card, tracing the path with one finger, to the center of the card and out again. “The path always leads you to the center and back out, no matter how many twists and turns it takes. It can be a long journey or a short one, depending on your pace, and the card denotes a physical journey as well as a spiritual or emotional one.”

“What’s the difference between a labyrinth and a maze?” Yasha asks, glancing at the card again. This time the path seems straightforward, as if Molly tracing the path has pinned it down.

“Mazes have more than one way in or out,” Molly says. “Many paths, many choices and dead ends. That’s an entirely different card, speaks of a more difficult journey, with no clear outcome. The Labyrinth is simpler, always a clear way in and out, always a clear goal. Speaking of…”

Molly draws the next card, lays it over the Labyrinth. The background of the card is black, swirled with stars, and the image of the compass rose that dominates the rest of the space is itself a shining whitish-blue, as if it itself were one of the stars. There are sixteen points on the compass, all of them marked N for North.

“I would have been surprised if this _hadn’t_ been the next card, honestly. They practically go together. This is True North. You’re heading toward a spiritual goal, a heart’s desire, something intangible.”

“ _True North_ ,” Yasha whispers. There are phrases in Common that have different meanings in Celestial, and that is one of them. True North was used to describe a bond with someone that was deeper than friendship, but not romantic or sexual. A person you would die to protect, someone who embodied comfort and safety and the feeling of coming home, a soulmate. Yasha thinks of her inner compass, and who it is pointing to right now. The cards aren’t coincidence. There’s something real here.

“Can’t say I’ve heard that language before,” Molly says, his head tilted in smiling curiosity. “Sounds pretty. What is it?”

Yasha freezes, her shoulders tense. Oh shit, had she said that in Celestial? She must have, and it was a rare enough language that the fact that she knew it would only invite more questions. “Just the language from where I was born,” she lies smoothly, at least she hopes it was smoothly. She’s fairly terrible at lying even on her best days.

“Which is where?” Molly’s voice is playful, curious. Yasha is reminded of a cat, looking at him, and the fact that his tail is waving behind him only completes the image.

Yasha raises an eyebrow, tries to put a bit of good humor laced with mild annoyance into her tone. “Somewhere else.”

Molly chuckles. “None of my business, fair enough.” He draws another card, but doesn’t put it down right away. “The thing about futures,” he says, “is that they can change. They’re slippery, like fish. But based on what I’ve drawn so far, this is where you’re headed.”

The card Molly draws is beautiful, but then, all the cards have been, so far. It’s a clearing in the woods, lit by the sun, filled with flowers and birds. It makes Yasha think of summers back home, and that makes her heart ache for a variety of reasons, some of them even good.

“Well, that’s a nice future if ever I’ve seen one,” Molly says cheerfully. “The Clearing. Rest, redemption, peace, an end to a journey. But, and this is important,” he says, tapping the far side of the card. There’s a path leading out of the clearing that Yasha hadn’t noticed. “There’s always the option to start a new adventure. Even peace could get old after a time, I would assume.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Yasha says thoughtfully. “Maybe.” Peace. That would be nice. She looks up at the dark gray clouds that are gathering, covering the sun. “Looks like you finished just in time, I think that storm is about to hit us.” She goes to get up and Molly raises a hand.

“There’s still one more card,” he says. “It’s an important one too, tells you what obstacle might be in the way of your future.”

Yasha sits back down, sparing another glance at the sky. “All right, but hurry.”

Molly draws the last card, places it over the card showing the clearing, and Yasha feels her heart give an almost painful lurch in her chest.

All the other cards had been beautiful. This one was not, looking dull and mundane next to all the other cards. It showed a figure, head lowered, kneeling, hands shackled in front of them, covered in chains that looked like they were made of smoke and shadow. Yasha stares at the card, unable to look away.

“I hate pulling the last card,” Molly said. “I’m always afraid it’s going to be Grinning Death or Dark Tower Fallen or something. But this isn’t as bad, as far as obstacles go, and fairly straightforward. Prisoner of the Past. The chains represent….” Molly’s voice fades as—

_Yasha is kneeling in a dark room, head bowed, her hands knotted together in prayer. She prays out loud, so she doesn’t forget how to speak. There is no one else to speak to, not anymore. There had been other children with her, once. She wishes she could remember their names. It’s been so long. She’s not even sure if she’s a child anymore. She has no idea how much time has passed since she was taken from her parents and from blue skies and sunlight. She can barely remember the faces of her parents. She can’t remember the name of the boy who had taught her the prayer. She wishes she could._

_“Stormlord, hear your warrior call to you, even though I am far away from the sea and the sky. Grant me the strength to defeat my enemies. Grant me bravery to face my own death if it comes for me, with my head held high. Please, if I must die, let it be under the open sky and not down here in the dark, in chains.”_

“Yasha? I can’t understand you. What’s wrong?’

The voice is faint, not strong enough to pull her back to herself.

_She’s in the pit, her arms weighed down by her manacles and the chain running between them. Every time she gets used to the weight they fit her with heavier chains. Her shoulders and back ache, but she’s used to that. She’s hungry, and she’s used to that too. After the fight, if she wins, she’ll get to eat. If she loses, she’ll have to go without food until the next day, or she’ll be dead and she won’t be hungry ever again. She shifts her weight, and the manacles around her ankles clink softly against their chains._

_A boy enters the pit, his steps clumsy. He must be new, if he doesn’t know how to walk in his chains yet. He doesn’t have any scars marring his bronze skin, and his golden eyes are filled with fear. Definitely new. They should have given her heavier manacles and shortened the length of her chains and lengthened his, to make the fight fair._

Yasha clenches her fists, nails digging into her palms. The pain isn’t enough to stop the tide of memories.

_“I don’t want to hurt you,” the boy says, the Celestial words too beautiful for the hell they are in. Above them, demons and fiends watch, placing bets on who will win._

“Shit, hey, no, don’t hurt yourself. Was it something I said? Something in the cards? This is why I normally just stick to bullshit. Nothing good comes of the truth.”

 _“I know,” Yasha says. “I’m sorry.” She feels herself becoming ice, becoming stone._ _She doesn’t want to hurt him either, but she wants to eat, she wants to live._

There are hands on hers, trying to uncurl her fingers, and Yasha grabs them, hard, because she’s drowning in her past, and she needs something to pull her out of her own head, before the memories turn to what happens next.The hands are warm, solid, grounding, and there’s a hiss of pain, followed by a crack of thunder—

Yasha blinks as the present snaps back into place, and she sees Molly’s face in front of her, his red eyes full of concern and pain.Yasha looks down at Molly’s hands and she can already see the bruises forming, dark purple and black against his skin. She immediately lightens her grip but doesn’t pull away. Instead she calls on what little power her heritage has given her, something she hasn’t done in so very long, and watches his bruises fade as her hands glow with a dim blue-white light.

Molly looks down at his hands and then up at her, eyes wide. They stare at each other for a long moment, not moving, Yasha’s breathing loud and ragged in the silence. Molly opens his mouth to speak and that’s when the rain falls, cold and heavy as a waterfall.

It’s the shock of the rain that gets Yasha to let go of Molly, that gets her to her feet. She doesn’t remember turning away from him, she’s just running, running under the open sky with dirt and grass beneath her feet and fresh air on her face and the sound of the storm in her ears loud enough that if Molly calls after her, she can’t hear it. She runs until she’s far from town, out in the middle of an open field, and there she stands, in the rain, hands stinging, any tears indistinguishable from the rain.

The storm clears by morning, and the first light of sunrise finds Yasha on the carnival grounds, soaked to the skin and standing outside the tent she knows Molly is in. He’ll be still sleeping, surely. Why did she come here so early? It had felt like the thing to do, that was all, and Yasha had grown used to trusting those feelings.

“Can I help you?” The voice comes from behind her, unfamiliar, hesitant, and Yasha feels her hand twitch for her sword for the briefest of seconds as she turns around.

The half-elf in front of her is tall and thin, his eyes both wary and concerned in equal measure as they take her in. Yasha knows how threatening she can look, all height and muscle with her sword that’s nearly as tall as a man. She wonders if looking like she’s stood out in a rainstorm all night adds or takes away from her natural intimidation. When she speaks, she keeps her voice soft, both because it’s early and because she doesn’t want to scare the man more than she already might have. “I was wondering if you were hiring. Sir.” She recognizes him from watching the carnival set up yesterday, she’s pretty sure he’s the one in charge of things.

The man relaxes, face breaking into a slight smile. “Please, call me Gustav, Gustav Fletching. And you are?”

“Yasha!” Molly’s voice breaks the quiet of the morning as he steps out of his tent with a smile and walks towards her. His hair is a bit tangled and his horns aren’t sporting the usual jewelry. “I was hoping to see you again! We never did finish our conversation. And good morning, Gustav!”

Yasha watches Gustav’s expression go slightly puzzled, but he’s still smiling. “Good morning, Molly. You’re up early, for you. So you know, Yasha, was it? Friend of yours?”

“Only met her yesterday, truth be told, but she grows on you quickly. She’s charming,” Molly says with a chuckle in his voice, but there’s nothing mean in the sound. “She’s strong too. Wicked strong.”

“Well!” Gustav’s smile is much broader now. “We could certainly use another strong pair of arms around here. Lots of putting tents up, taking them down, hauling equipment, a little bit of security work. The pay isn’t much, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine,” Yasha says, because the coin doesn’t matter to her, not really. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very much welcome. As for where you’ll be sleeping, I suppose we could—“

“I sleep outside, mostly,” Yasha says softly, but firmly. A day or two in an inn or a tent during rain or snow is the most she’s ever been able to manage before panic sets in at the feeling of being confined.

Gustav doesn’t even bat an eye. “Well that makes things easy. Breakfast is in an hour or so, and you can introduce yourself to everyone then.” He sticks out his hand and Yasha shakes it. “Welcome to the carnival, Yasha. Glad to have you.”

“Yes,” Molly echoes, looking up at Yasha. “Glad to have you.”

Yasha looks back at Molly and tries to enjoy the feeling that, for the moment, she’s right where she’s supposed to be.

**3.**

The moon is high and full in the sky as Yasha makes her way back to the carnival. It’s been three months and she’s discovered that carnival life suits her very well. No one questions her strange comings and goings, or presses her about her past. She gets along with everyone fairly well, or at least, doesn’t _not_ get along with anyone. Molly is the person she’s closest to though, and that shouldn’t surprise her as much it does. It’s not just the desire to protect him that she’s felt since that first vision she had of him. They’ve been through a lot together, in just three months.

Yasha isn’t surprised to find Molly just sitting in a field, looking up at the full moon. He worships the Moonweaver, same as Gustav. (Molly shares Gustav’s accent as well, and his desire to do good by people whenever he can. There are worse people to emulate.) In the distance, Yasha can just see the shadows of the carnival tents, but she has no desire to rejoin everyone else at the moment. Instead, she sits cross legged a respectful distance away from Molly, looking up at the moon herself, and waits. She hears the rise and fall of his voice but not the words, whether they be prayer or poem or song. It’s not for her to know.

Eventually there is movement out of the corner of her eye, a rustling in the grass, and then Molly sits down next to her, close enough to touch. “You okay?”

The first time Yasha had gone away and come back, Molly had asked her where she went. Yasha had only had to say it was personal once and Molly had never asked the question again. Instead his first question when she returned was if she was okay or not. Sometimes she wasn’t. Tonight she was. “Yeah. I’m all right.”

“Good,” Molly says, leaning against her. If Yasha had been told a year ago that she would let anyone voluntary touch her and not flinch away from the contact or draw her sword, she wouldn’t have believed it. But it was Molly. Molly who had sat up with her on bad nights when the memories in her head were too loud. Molly, who didn’t ask about her past or who she was and stitched up whatever wounds she got in her travels as gently as he could. Molly, who she had fought bandits and wolves and even undead alongside, and if facing down enemies in battle didn’t bond people together, what did? Molly, the person she could always come back to.

There was silence for awhile. When Molly was around other people he was always talking or smiling, performing for others or maybe just himself. When he was alone with Yasha, he was just a little bit quieter. In turn, Yasha spoke a little bit more. In private or in public they complemented each other, sound and silence, light and shadow.

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” Yasha asks.

“Oh, you know, the usual drama,” Molly says with a vague wave of his hand. Put enough people in close proximity and there was always some sort of interpersonal conflict going on at any given time. “Attendance was poor at our last show and that certainly hasn’t helped anything. Toya was worried that you wouldn’t be able to find us and I told her that you had always found us before and that this time wasn’t going to be any different.”

“That’s true,” Yasha says, smiling ever so slightly. She likes the little dwarf girl, even if listening to her sing almost always made her cry. “I keep telling her not to worry.”

“It’s funny,” Molly says. “I had thought maybe you just had a very good memory for the towns Gustav talks about when we plan out our route, but we had to take a major detour this time, some sort of skirmish east of here that we didn’t want to get caught up in. Rich folk fighting other rich folk for more land and more money that they don’t even need, that sort of thing. We’re way off from where we planned to be, but here you are.”

Yasha looks up at the sky, the stars, and thinks about what to say. If she doesn’t say anything, Molly will probably drop the subject. The more she thinks about it though, the more she _wants_ to say something. She opens her mouth to speak, but Molly beats her to it.

“Is it because you’re an aasimar? Is it some divine guidance thing?” Molly says the words casually. He could be talking about the weather, or how beautiful the stars are.

“How did you—“ Yasha looks down at Molly, who’s looking back up at her. “I didn’t think it was obvious.” Sure, her hair was a bit odd, and her eyes were two different colors, but there were aasimar who were _way_ more obvious than she was, all metal-bright hair and bronze skin and actual halos of light.

“The day we first met, I looked at you and it was like… like looking at a word with all the vowels missing. I knew the basic shape of what I was looking at, but not the details. I was curious, but I didn’t try to consciously puzzle it out. And then one day I looked at you and I knew the word, and what the word meant.”

Yasha is only mildly surprised. Sometimes Molly just knew things, like last month when they passed by that town with the graveyard where the dead wouldn’t stay dead. He had _known_ about zombies and ghouls suddenly, and had confessed to Yasha after the ensuing fight, that he hadn’t known _how_ he had known.

“I’ve known how to find you since the first time I saw you,” Yasha says, answering his earlier question. “It’s not— I don’t think it’s him guiding me. It doesn’t feel like him. I think maybe it’s—“ Yasha makes a gesture at the full moon above them, hoping Molly will understand what she is trying to say. She doesn’t say the names of gods out loud unless she is praying, unless she wants to attract their attention.

Molly looks up at the full moon, then reaches into the pocket of his coat, pulls out his deck of cards, and pulls two from the deck, Moon and Shadow. He doesn’t share her superstition about the names of gods, but he respects it. He places the cards on the grass in front of him. “Her, you mean?”

“Yes.” The Moonweaver, goddess of illusion and misdirection and also of love, or so it was said, favored of those who worked in shadows.

“Why?” Molly’s voice is soft and incredulous. He’s shuffling his cards and Yasha can hear his tail swishing in the grass, both signs of agitation. “Why me?”

Yasha shakes her head. “I don’t know. I just knew, the first time I saw you, that you were important, that you were to be protected. Though you seem to do a fine job of protecting yourself, to be honest.” Anyone who can defend himself that well with cheap carnival prop swords has to have some mastery with weapons. Yasha bets he’d be a terror with a pair of _actual_ swords. “Maybe it’s because you’re a seer, those are a rare enough thing.”

Molly laughs nervously, pulling two more cards without looking at them, letting them fall over the first two, just giving himself something to do with his hands. “Yasha, come on. What I do, it’s all slight of hand. Misdirection. There’s nothing real about it.”

Yasha knows he doesn’t believe that, not entirely. She still remembers what he had said while she had been trapped in old memories, that time he had read the cards for her. _This is why I normally just stick to bullshit. Nothing good comes of the truth._

Molly pulls another card, lets it fall, then looks down and says something.

Yasha doesn’t know Infernal, but she knows a swear when she hears one. She follows his gaze downward. She sees the card that Molly drew for her months ago, Destiny’s Wanderer, the card that represents her. The card next to it is one she hasn’t seen before. It shows a blindfolded figure holding a pair of swords, the blades red with blood. Multiple arrows pierce the figure’s body and yet, they’re smiling. Red strings are tied around the figure’s wrists and arms, holding them suspended. The last card, the compass rose with all the directions marked as North, lays horizontally between the two, like a bridge.

Yasha waits, lets the silence stretch between them. Molly fills most silences, given time, and he doesn’t disappoint her.

“Sometimes there’s something.” Molly says it like he has to force the words out. “When I read the cards for people, mostly there’s nothing, I can just pick what people want to hear. You’ve seen me do it. Health, wealth, happiness, love, standard stuff. But sometimes there’s _something_. With you there was that _something._ ” The words flow faster, easier, like a river broken free of a dam, voice rising in pitch. “I knew you were going to be there that day, the day we met. I didn’t know who you were, or your name, but as soon as I saw you, I knew I had seen you before, and that you were supposed to be there, and you were. Did that make any sense? I’m probably not making any sense. Are you from before? Did I know you before? Would you tell me?”

Yasha can feel Molly trembling against her and she slowly puts an arm around him, slow enough that he can move away from her if he wants to. He doesn’t, just relaxes into her touch as she pulls him a little bit closer. That’s Molly, always touching people, always craving the feeling of skin against his own. Yasha’s nearly the opposite, but Molly’s touch doesn’t make her feel like she’s in danger, and she wants to offer him the comfort he so very much needs.

“I didn’t know you before.” Before means before Molly crawled out of the ground. She doesn’t know who he was before that, and she does not care. “But I saw you that night, your first night, in a vision. And you saw me too.”

“I did, didn’t I.” It’s not a question, it’s an answer. Molly looks down at the cards again. “That’s you,” he says, tapping her card. “And that’s me. Destiny’s Warrior, the one who goes in blind and yet sees. The one who sacrifices themselves to keep fighting. And this—“ Molly taps the card between them. “This connects us somehow.”

“ _True North_ ,” Yasha says.

“That’s Celestial, isn’t it?” Molly asks. “You said the same thing when I drew the card for you. What does it mean?”

“The phrase means something different in Celestial than it does in Common. It’s—“ Yasha looks up at the moon, trying to gather her thoughts. Talking about her own feelings is not something she’s not had a lot of practice with. “It means a person you would die to protect, someone who embodies comfort and safety and the feeling of coming home. A North star. A light in a window.”

The silence lasts only a few seconds probably, but it feels like an age. “You know you just described a soulmate, right?”

“Yes,” Yasha says quickly, because otherwise she won’t be able to say it at all.

“And you feel that way about me?”

“Yes,” Yasha says again, because Stormlord bless, she _does._ She’s only known Molly, really known him, for about three months, not counting her vision of him before, but yes, that’s what she feels. Perhaps the Moonweaver made it so she always knows where Molly is for her own reasons, but Yasha knows how she feels about him are her own feelings and not divine meddling. She knows her own self well enough for that.

Molly’s shaking against her again, but this time it’s not from nerves or fear. “Oh thank gods, I thought it was just me.” There’s laughter in his voice, and relief. “A tiefling and an aasimar. Soulmates. The irony of it is just too good.” He says something then that Yasha can almost make out, the syllables sounding like music slightly off key and out of tune. He’s trying to say “True North” in Celestial.

Yasha doesn’t laugh like Molly does, loud displays of emotion are very much not her thing and may never be, but she does find herself smiling. “Your accent is terrible,” she says.

Molly looks up at her and smiles back. “So teach me! And I’ll teach you Infernal!”

Yasha doesn’t tell him that she already knows a few words in Infernal. _Begin. Stop. Kill._ She has shared more of herself with him than she has anyone else, but she hasn’t told him everything.

The tension of the night slowly bleeds away as the field fills with the sounds of both guttural hissing and words like bells blending together.

**4.**

Yasha doesn’t need any sort of visions or divine compass to tell her that Molly is going to be at The Steam’s Respite when she gets to Zadash, she just knows him that well. When they had been traveling with the carnival, Molly had spent his coin at any bathhouse in the towns they had passed through that didn’t mind having a tiefling as a patron, and she knew she wasn’t wrong in assuming he would do the same here. Molly was a man who believed in enjoying simple pleasures to the fullest, after all.

Yasha relaxes in the hot water, sword at her side, not making eye contact with the elderly couple she was sharing the bath with, who haven’t stopped staring at her since she had walked in. Maybe it was because she had brought in the sword. She had saved up the money to buy it for so long, there was no way she was going to let it out of her sight if she absolutely didn’t have to. It was a good sword, much better than the old one she had been traveling with before. It wasn’t a blade she felt any particular bond with (which was just as well, she was pretty sure there was no one in the Empire who knew how to perform a proper sword marriage) but it was a very good weapon, she felt.

Yasha looks up when someone new enters, just like she does whenever someone enters a room she’s in, always assessing potential threats, and sees Beau. A very naked Beau. A very muscular naked Beau. Yasha allows herself a few seconds to admire the view, before keeping her eyes trained on Beau’s face. The secret to not making casual nudity weird is not to stare. Plus, this will keep her from blushing, she hopes.

“Hey, how you folks doing?” Beau asks the elderly couple, sliding into the water. She hasn’t seen Yasha yet, which must mean the monk really isn’t paying attention, because Yasha isn’t exactly blending in.

“Cannonball!” Yasha hears Jester shout, and then a excited blue blur of a tiefling splashes into the water. When the girl comes up for air, blue hair slick with water, Yasha can’t help but think of mermaids. Well, she can’t help but think of mermaids from children’s tales, not the real ones, the ones with teeth and claws that come up from under the ice and—

Caleb and Fjord come out next, and Yasha has no problem keeping her attention focused above the waist with those two. Fjord is decently muscled with some very interesting scars, the kind you talk about around the campfire or in a tavern when you’ve had a few drinks. Caleb is thin, not quite painfully so, but close. His pale skin is dusted with freckles like stars in the night sky. And walking next to Caleb—

Yasha squints, because what she’s seeing is a three foot tall copy of Fjord, except this one is wearing clothes and moving in that wary way she associates with Nott. A disguise spell. Yasha nods slightly in approval. The goblin has learned some new tricks.

“Yasha!” Jester cries out, and Beau whips her head around to stare at Yasha, a blush already creeping up her neck.

“Hello,” Yasha says evenly, letting herself smile just the tiniest bit as the others greet her. “Good to see you all.”

“Took you long enough to fuckin’ find us,” Molly says as he walks out of the changing room, giving her a kiss on the forehead as he slides into the water next to her. Yasha returns the kiss, something she never would have dreamed of doing before she met Molly.

“I’m know, I’m sorry, I had some things to do.”

“What sort of things?” Nott asks, and the next several minutes are filled by Yasha trying to answer the question in the vaguest terms possible. She can tell this isn’t going to be as easy as it was with the carnival, where people were more mindful of privacy. She’s grateful when focus slides from her and onto Caleb instead, even when he sinks out of sight underneath the water. She knows how he feels. Not all of her reasons for leaving the groups she’s been a part of from time to time are divine ones.

“You okay?” Molly whispers while the others discuss taking up a job for some extra coin. Yasha lets them talk, she’ll just go along with whatever they decide more than likely.

“Yeah,” Yasha whispers back. “Just thinking that I had something in common with your wizard there.”

“Not _my_ wizard,” Molly says, and there’s something wistful in his tone that makes Yasha look at him sideways and file a few questions away for later, when they’re alone.

The word ‘heretic’ makes Yasha look up suddenly, tuning back into the conversation. “I’m sorry, say that again?”

“There’s a job posting to hunt down heretics,” Fjord says. “Which we won’t be taking—“

“Definitely won’t be taking,” Jester says.

“Do you have a god you worship?” Nott asks. The goblin… girl? Woman? Yasha is far from an expert on goblin ages, just knows that however old Nott is, she’s full of questions. “Because they only let you worship certain gods in the Empire.”

“Oh?” Yasha says, as if she doesn’t know. “Which gods?” Maybe everyone will have forgotten that Yasha hasn’t answered Nott’s question by the time Nott finishes answering.

“Do you follow any sort of religion?” Caleb asks when Nott finishes, because of course he would realize Yasha didn’t answer the question. He’s terribly observant, that one.

“I do,” is all Yasha says.

Jester brightens. “Do you worship the Traveler too?”

“I do not.” To be honest, Yasha had never heard of the Traveler before Jester had mentioned Him. A new god maybe? An old god coming back around? Religion has never been of interest to her, which is ironic.

“So who _do_ you worship?”

“I don’t feel like I’m comfortable to say here,” Yasha says, stammering a little.

The subject gets dropped, thankfully, and Yasha goes back to watching the group as Molly fills her in on what happened while she had been away. Gnolls and manticores and mysterious clerics, a lot has happened in such a short amount of time. She watches everyone interact with each other, watches Beau and Fjord try to teach Nott how to swim. Yasha’s been part of mercenary groups before, but she’s never seen one start acting like a family quite so quickly. There’s still a bit of a hesitant quality about it, but it’s there. She doesn’t feel like a part of that dynamic yet, but she can easily see how it might happen.

“And I’ve made so much money with these people,” Molly is saying excitedly. “As much as three months of shows, just like that!”

“Yasha, no one’s coming after you or anything, are they?” Fjord asks, and Yasha feels like she missed part of the conversation again. There’s a lot going on, and she’s starting to feel a little bit overwhelmed.

“No, the only trouble I might get in is because of the god I’ve chosen to worship.” Oh hells, she hadn’t meant to bring that up again. Well, there was no help for it now.

“Which is whoooooo?” Jester asks, drawing out the last vowel like a piece of taffy being stretched.

Yasha sighs. She supposes she can say the name, just once, for the sake of clarity. “The Stormlord.”

Beau, Jester, and Nott all look like they have no idea who she is talking about. Caleb nods knowingly though, and so does Fjord.

“The Stormlord is to be feared and respected,” Fjord says, like he knows, and maybe he does. Molly told her that Fjord had been a sailor, once.

“Yes. He pulled me out of what literally felt like the depths of hell. And so, I owe him my life. I will continue to serve him and do as he asks, whenever he asks.” She focuses on the words and the feel of water on her skin to keep herself from sliding back into memories. She’s talking too much, or maybe everyone else is. She’s grown so used to hardly saying anything. She’s starting to wish she could sink into the water, much as Caleb had.

“She doesn’t have to tell us her life story.” Caleb says, and Yasha shoots him a grateful look. He makes eye contact with her for the briefest of moments and gives a tiny nod of understanding before looking away.

“And I vouch for her, for what it’s worth,” Molly says quickly.

“It’s worth quite a bit coming from you, Molly,” Fjord says, and he sounds sincere.

Focus slips back off Yasha again, much to her intense relief, as they make plans to accept the job concerning a monster in the sewers. Something to kill, Yasha can get behind that.

Everyone starts getting out of the bath, except for Beau, who’s staring at Yasha. Yasha looks back at her, knowing a challenge when she sees it.

“Beau, you coming?” Fjord calls back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure, in a second,” Beau calls back, smiling, not breaking eye contact.

“Yasha? You coming?” Molly asks, and Yasha doesn’t look away from Beau but she can _hear_ the smile in Molly’s voice.

“In a minute,” Yasha says. “Want to— make sure I get my money’s worth.”

 _“Good luck with that one_ ,” Molly says in Infernal. Yasha can hear Jester giggling.

Gods damn it, that was not how she meant it, and Beau is across the way, grinning at her like a wolf.

“I didn’t want to show anything…” Yasha says awkwardly, hoping maybe that will be enough.

“No?” Beau says with a quirk of her eyebrow and damn it, how can Beau’s smile actually get _wider_? It’s like the manticore that Molly told her about.

Now the question becomes, does Yasha leave first and let Beau admit dominance or—

Yasha mentally shakes her head. This isn’t the slave pits, she doesn’t have to think that way, not anymore. This is… flirting. Is this flirting? She doesn’t have time for romance or any of that, but one of them needs to leave the bath first, and Yasha has seen Beau naked now, so it’s only fair that Beau gets to look at her in turn, right? That’s logical.

Yasha gets up slowly, because she’s never run from a challenge and she’s not going to run from this one. She holds eye contact with Beau for about five seconds before turning and walking at a perfectly normal pace back to the changing room.

“You’re blushing,” Molly tells her as they’re leaving the bathhouse. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on the obnoxious one?”

“I don’t,” Yasha says, because she can’t, she doesn’t have time for that. “How about we talk about how _you_ couldn’t take your eyes off a certain red-haired wizard?”

Molly nudges her hard with his shoulder, but now _he’s_ the one blushing.

**5.**

Yasha swears that the next thing she’s going to buy when she has the coin and the time to actually purchase anything is a cloak with an actual _hood_ on it. She knows she’s not being stared at any more than usual, but it _feels_ like she is.

“High  Richter Prucine murdered in home!” Yasha hears a town crier call. “Attack on Zauber Spire the work of Xhorhas assailants!”

Yasha keeps walking, keeps looking straight ahead.

“Conflicts on the Xhorhasian border escalate!”

Yasha does not hunch her shoulders, but it is a close thing. Damn it all, she wants a drink. Several drinks. Hells, she has the coin, she could actually purchase enough alcohol to get herself good and drunk. She finds herself heading, not toward the Leaky Tap, but the Evening Nip. It’ll be quiet there, no one will bother her, and even if their wine and ale are terrible, well, alcohol is alcohol.

She’s not even surprised when she turns the corner and finds the rest of the Mighty Nein (she supposes she is part of the group by default, though no one has said anything) walking into the bar slightly ahead of her. She follows them in, and then follows them down the stairs, into what turns out to be the bar below the bar. No one notices her, not even perpetually anxious Caleb, who was bringing up the rear. She’s trying to think of a way to bring herself to the wizard’s attention without scaring him when she gets distracted by the female tabaxi who takes one look at Molly, stares incredulously at him for a long moment, and then hugs him like she’s greeting a friend she thought she’d never see again, all the while calling him “Lucien.”

Molly is turned away from the group, so she can’t see his face as he tells the tabaxi how good it is to see her again, but she knows without a doubt that Molly has never seen this person before in his life. As the tabaxi walks off to grab them a table, Molly turns to whisper something to Fjord, and that’s when Molly’s eyes catch hers. He’s smiling, but Yasha is well versed in Molly’s smiles. It’s too wide, almost manic, and the panic in his expression only eases slightly when he sees her.

“Yasha! I’m so glad you’re here. It’s Lucien, you know, _from two years ago_ ,” Molly says rather pointedly.

Yasha doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

Everyone has turned to look at her, surprised to see her standing there. “I’ve been behind you this whole time,” she says. She doesn’t say that they were so unobservant that she probably could have killed Caleb without them noticing, even if it was true.

“We looked around when we came in, we would have seen you!” Nott says, eyes narrowed at her in suspicion.

“Don’t know how you didn’t notice me,” Yasha replies. It’s not important now.

“We don’t mind calling you Lucien,” Fjord is saying to Molly. “But does that name bring any extra trouble with it?”

“I’ll explain later!” Molly’s voice is practically a squeak, which smooths right out when the tabaxi calls them all over to a table.

Yasha has always been impressed by Molly’s ability to bullshit under pressure, and tonight he is in fine form. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he actually knew this person, Cree, and that he had any idea what she’s talking about. Yasha listens to Cree talk about the group she was a part of with Molly, about the ritual that went wrong, about burying Molly and disbanding their group. Through it all Molly smiles and spins words like nothing at all is wrong. It’s a skill Yasha herself does not possess.

Yasha is wondering if Cree’s tale is actually stirring any of Molly’s memories when suddenly a teal skinned gentleman claps his hands, welcomes them all to _his_ bar, and asks them to introduce themselves. Turns out the gentleman is, well, _the_ Gentleman, the person in charge of the organized crime in this city. Life has certainly gotten _very_ interesting very quickly, Yasha thinks as he speaks. Then he mentions collecting some of their blood, for insurance against them, and Yasha goes very still. There are things any half decent blood mage can do with only a little blood, and there are things you can do with aasimar blood in particular, or so it is said. Still, everyone else reluctantly donates, and she has no other options. This is not a situation she can fight her way out of.

Yasha thinks about her blood in that vial for the rest of her time in the bar, even as she watches Fjord play cards with the Gentleman, as they make a deal to do some clearing out of some underground ruin, as she listens to Nott tell her what’s been going on in the very short time since she left. Everything seems to be happening so fast, and all at once.

In what seems like hardly any time at all, everyone is back outside and they’re walking back to the Leaky Tap. Yasha hangs back with Molly, whose eyes are wide and whose hands have been shaking, ever so slightly, the entire night. “You okay?”

“That’s my line,” Molly says, and there’s a ghost of a laugh in his words. He leans against her, ever so slightly, as they walk. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

Yasha puts an arm around Molly and he leans into her a little harder. “Are you going to tell them? About two years ago?”

Molly sighs. “It wasn’t something I had been planning on doing, or at least, not this soon. I don’t— I don’t know what to tell them.”

“The truth?” Yasha herself is very bad at telling lies, it’s just something she’s never had the knack for.

Molly chuckles wryly. “I suppose, but how much?”

The answer to Molly’s question turns out to be “all of it,” at least once Jester casts her truth spell. Yasha listens to Molly speak and watches the reactions of the rest of the group. They seem to be taking things rather well, and Molly himself seems almost relieved to answer questions without having to decide just how much truth to tell.

“That question was for Yasha, actually.”

Yasha’s turns her attention back to Jester, who is smiling _way_ too widely. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked you if you find anyone in the Mighty Nein attractive! Molly said yes! But I was asking you, technically.”

“Oh.” Yasha looks around, stalling. Her gaze falls on Beau, who’s perched on her chair with a hopeful expression. Yasha quickly looks away.

“You can be dodgy about it, if you want,” she hears Caleb say, and gods bless him for trying to help her. “It just has to be true.”

“You can also say that you don’t want to talk about it,” Molly says. “Which I assume is true.”

“I—“ Yasha looks down at her hands and makes a decision. “Of course I find some of you attractive… charming even.” She continues staring at her hands, because that means she doesn’t have to look at either Jester or Beau. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to act on those feelings though.”

Yasha is grateful that there are no follow up questions to that statement, and that Nott’s frantic last minute attempt to get Yasha to, “tell them everything,” was made after the spell had worn off. She hasn’t even told _Molly_ everything. No one needs to know what she had done to survive, and she does not want to talk about chains, and the blood, and the dark.


	2. +1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place sometime in the future from where we are now. Not ultra far, but not like, next week or anything.

**+1.**

Yasha doesn’t know how long she’s been down here, in the dark. She can’t sleep, which means she can’t wake up from this nightmare, won’t wake up to find her chains gone and the morning sun streaming through the window of whatever inn they’re staying in, Jester curled up on one side of her and Beau, sprawled and snoring on the other.

_“Stormlord, hear your warrior call to you, even though I am far away from the sea and the sky. Grant me the strength to defeat my enemies. Grant me bravery to face my own death if it comes for me, with my head held high. Please, if I must die, let it be under the open sky and not down here in the dark, in chains.”_

The words are a mumble, broken bells falling on shattered glass. Yasha’s throat hurts from screaming, and her chest aches from where the cleric had touched her. Whatever magic they had used had felt like she had been flayed with knives from the inside out, and she wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen her own blood on the floor afterwards. But no, they had made sure to weaken her without spilling her blood. The cleric had spoken of rituals, reconsecration, the weakening of bindings, the breaking of chains.

Yasha can’t break her own chains. She had tried, both in panic and in rage, when she had first woken up in the dark, back when she had been strong enough to maybe have a chance. They might be enchanted not to break, she isn’t sure, but she knows the manacles around her ankles and wrists and neck are magical, sending a constant stream of low grade agony throughout her body. The pain makes it impossible for her to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, and the exhaustion is wearing at her.

 _You have robbed me of rest and dreams, and so I shall do the same for you,_ is inscribed on the manacles in flowing, Celestial script. It reminds Yasha of something, a tale about an aasimar that had fallen into darkness and had used their talents to craft tools of torture in retaliation for what had been done to them and their companions. Yasha wonders if this means the tales are true. She can’t find it in herself to appreciate the irony.

Yasha leans her head back, the chain from the manacle around her neck connecting her to the wall clinking against the stone. They’ve chained her to the wall like a dog, and she’d be angry about that if she had the energy for it. Instead she closes her eyes. She’s tired. So tired.

_Darkness. Darkness bound in chains of gold and it’s raining blood and the chains are breaking link by link and the darkness laughs as feathers fall from the sky black and gray and white and the feathers are dripping blood and—_

“Yasha?” Molly’s voice stirs her from her half sleep, and for a moment Yasha thinks that maybe everything was a nightmare, the ambush and the fighting and the chains. But no. Yasha still feels the manacles against her skin. She doesn’t open her eyes. It was just a voice from her dream. Wishful thinking, a hallucination brought on by stress and near starvation.

“What is this? Is this real? Is this true? Yasha, what happened to you?” Molly’s voice sounds frantic. “If this is a nightmare then I’d like to wake up now, please.”

Yasha raises her head and opens her eyes. There should only be darkness, she shouldn’t be able to see anything at all. Yet there’s Molly, washed out as if he was standing in a shaft of moonlight. She can see through him to the back of the cell if she looks hard enough. She’s awake now, she knows that, but is this a vision? Is he _seeing_ her somehow, wherever he is?

Molly goes to his knees in front of her, hands passing through her chains when he tries to touch them. He snarls in frustration before looking her in the eyes. “Yasha, what happened? Where _are_ you?”

“I don’t know,” Yasha says. She might as well treat the Molly in front of her as if he is there somehow, she has nothing to lose by doing so. “I was traveling through a pass in the Ashkeeper Peaks and there was an ambush and there were just too many of them. Cultists of the Chained Oblivion, I’m pretty sure.” Their clerics and warriors had bore chain tattoos at any rate. There were less of them now, she had killed more than a few of them before they had overwhelmed her. “I woke up here. In the dark. Underground.” She has to stop speaking then, just for a moment, to push down the panic threatening to claw up her throat. This isn’t like before. It _isn’t._

“Shit. Okay, okay, okay.” Molly sounds like Jester for a moment and Yasha has to wonder if she’s going to see Jester or Beau or Molly or any of the rest of the group ever again, and then she pushes the thought away. It’s not a useful thought. “We’d heard rumors about possible cult activity up near the mountains. Maybe we’re close. We _have_ to be close.”

Yasha wants to believe that to be the case, she really does, but she just doesn’t know. Her sense of where Molly is only directional, it has nothing to do with distance. “You’re northwest of wherever I am, that’s all I know. Look for a ruin, or an old temple. That’s what they want me for. To use my blood in some sort of ritual.”

“We’re not going to let that happen.” Molly’s voice is firm as he looks her in the eye. “I’m going to find you. _We’re_ going to find you. I prom—“ Just like that, Molly is gone, if he was ever really there.

Yasha leans her head back against the stone and closes her eyes. “Please let that have been real,” she whispers into the dark.

Time passes and Yasha drifts in and out of half dreams until the door to her cell opens and she is awake instantly, kneeling, head bowed, muscle memory from what seems like a lifetime ago coming into play. She has to remind herself where she is again, what she’s doing. She had a plan, when she had first woken up, down in the dark, and the plan hadn’t changed. She’s going to pretend she’s terribly weak, so her captors would let their guard down. She’s going to let them lead her to wherever this sacrifice was going to take place, and then she’s going to rage. The fact that she’s so exhausted and drained that her rage might actually kill her does not alter her plan in the slightest. She wants to believe that the Mighty Nein will find her, but she isn’t going to _depend_ on that. She’s going to go down fighting, one way or the other.

Yasha doesn’t have to pretend that she feels five minutes away from death as they cultists lead her by her chains through the tunnels, slowly heading upwards. It’s a struggle to simply walk, but she knows that if she falls that she will just be dragged. She prays silently as they lead her up into the light of the setting sun, into a ruined temple, as she reaches down inside herself to where her rage lives. She can’t find the cold fire that normally burns within her heart, the fire that casts shadows and gives no light.

_Stormlord, hear your warrior in their last moments. Grant me the means to bring down my enemies even if it means my own death, which I gladly give to you._

Thunder rumbles in the distance as if in answer to her prayer as Yasha is lead to a spot where sigils are carved into the stone. There are hands on her shoulders, trying to force her down, force her to kneel, and Yasha feels a spark of ice in her heart because she is _not_ going to die on her knees.

_“There isn’t a hell deep enough for where you’re going!”_

Several cultists flinch back from the Infernal shout, but Yasha just looks up to see Molly and the rest of the Mighty Nein standing before the group of cultists and holy warriors, weapons at the ready.

“ _What Molly said!”_ Jester cries out almost gleefully in Infernal as she manifests her spiritual weapon, her lollipop ridiculous and deadly.

Next to Jester, Beau smiles grimily, eyes shining. “You fuckers are going to pay for hurting my girlfriend.”

“ _Our_ girlfriend,” Jester corrects.

“Our friend,” says Fjord, sword dripping seawater and something old and ancient looking out of his eyes for a brief moment.

“Our family,” and that’s Caleb, fire in his hands and burning in his eyes as Nott loads her crossbow and nods at Yasha firmly as if in agreement.

Molly looks right at Yasha, and his smile promises death to their enemies. “ _My True North_ ,” he says, in perfect Celestial, his words dark bells ringing in moonlight.

Yasha feels that spark of rage kindle into a fire of blue flame, of ice. This is no longer about dying well, she thinksas the battle begins, as the Nein rush at the cultists. This is about protecting everyone she loves, in all the ways she loves them. She roars as the icy rage consumes her, as her wings unfurl and her eyes go dark. Some of the cultists run, not that there’s anywhere for them to go before they get cut down by swords or fists or spells or bolts. The bravest of them advance towards her, and Yasha feels herself smile. The strength of her rage won’t last long, but it’s there.

They should have given her heavier manacles. They should have shortened the length of her chains. One by one she takes her enemies apart with her bare hands, just like she had taken people apart in the pit when she had been young, her face stone, her heart ice. She’s not sure how long it is until she runs out of enemies, until strength flows out of her like water, her wings vanishing as she falls to her knees. She feels her heart falter in her chest as her eyes close—

Cold hands on her shoulders and warm magic rushing through her, chasing away the pain, giving her strength again. That has to be Jester. Yasha opens her eyes and reaches for her, only to pause with her hands half raised when she realizes she’s bloody nearly all the way to the elbows. Jester looks scared and sad all at once and it makes Yasha’s heart hurt.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Beau, on the other hand, looks awestruck. “That was _amazing_. And gruesome. And kind of hot. And _amazing._ ”

“Later.” It comes out as a broken whisper. Yasha rubs at her arms as if that will get the blood off and only ends up smearing it around. She looks around for Molly and doesn’t see him, or Fjord either. From somewhere distant she can hear the sounds of fighting, and Fjord and Molly’s triumphant shouts.

“Yes, perhaps story time can wait until we are not surrounded by dead people in an evil place, ja?” Caleb says, kneeling next to Yasha and looking at her manacles, hands moving in a spell. “Abjuration magic. Hmmm. Nott, you are better with locks than me, come look at these.” As Nott comes over, Caleb whispers to Yasha in Celestial. “ _You don’t have to tell anyone anything you don’t want to.”_

“ _I know. I want to. Just… not now.”_

Caleb nods and then Nott is there, frowning at the manacles and poking them with one long finger. “I have a spell I can try, but it’s going to be really loud.”

Yasha just nods and Nott says a few words and then there is indeed a very loud sound, like someone knocking on a door, only much louder. The manacles on Yasha’s arms fall away when Nott pulls them open, clanking to the ground, and Yasha flinches at the sound. Nott repeats the spell for the manacles around Yasha’s ankles, and the one around her neck. For the first time in who knows how long, Yasha isn’t in constant pain, and the relief is so great she’d cry if she could, but she’s too tired for tears.

Yasha hears footsteps behind her and she turns her head to see Fjord walking towards her, carrying her sword in its sheathe. “Thought you might want this back, one of them warrior types was using it.”

Yasha doesn’t move to get up or take back her blade. She’s so tired. What she wants most in the world is to be far away from this place and somewhere peaceful to fall asleep in. And then breakfast and more sleeping. She turns her head away from Fjord and Jester gives her a look, one that’s less scared, less sad.

“Is it okay if I carry your sword for you?” Jester asks. “You are probably very tired after, you know, everything.”

Yasha nods. “Please.”

Jester gets up to take the sword from Fjord and Molly takes her place. He takes a canteen from his belt and pours water over her hands, washing the blood away. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Beau asks indignantly. “Of course she’s not fucking okay! None of us have been okay since you woke us up in the middle of the night and told us she was in trouble!”

Beau doesn’t understand that the question is half ritual, half in joke, something familiar that Molly knows Yasha needs right now. “You found me,” Yasha says to Molly, and it’s not quite an answer.

“I promised I would,” Molly says. “And it was a promise I meant to keep, even if we had been too late. I would have gone to the Matron of Ravens herself to find you. Thankfully it didn’t come to that.” He smiles, not his usual wide smile, but a more subdued one. “There was a moment when I thought—“ Molly shakes his head. “We had gotten turned around, these mountain paths are tricky, and we couldn’t get our bearings. We were frantic.”

“And then Molly’s eyes went all silver and he started talking to someone we couldn’t see, and it was all very mysterious,” Jester said, kneeling beside Molly. “And then Molly said that the _Moonweaver_ said we had to follow the storm. So we did, and you’re here and you’re not dead and everything will be okay now,” Jester says firmly, as if saying it will make it so.

Yasha looks up at the sky, at the storm clouds rolling in. Soon the rain will wash the blood away from the stone, and time will take care of the corpses. Today her past saved her instead of weighing her down, and she doesn’t know how she feels about that yet. She doesn’t know what to do about that look in Jester’s eyes, the one that is a little bit sad and a little bit scared.

Yasha thinks it’s rain on her face at first, but it’s not, it’s tears. And then Molly’s arms are around her, and Beau and Jester, and Fjord and Nott manage to crowd in. Frumpkin appears suddenly on Yasha’s shoulder, purring. Molly is Yasha’s True North and always will be, but right now, in the circle of everyone’s arms, Yasha feels like she’s come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started writing this *forever* ago, weeks and weeks before Ashley revealed that Yasha was a Fallen aasimar, then immediately panicked because I thought that Fallen didn't *get* divine guides, but after reading the aasimar page for like the millionth time, I realized the wording is, "An aasimar, except for one who has turned to evil...." so that totally works, because Yasha in the show strikes me as neutral, at least so far. It gave me a bit of piece of mind at any rate, I know it's not something that would bother anyone else.
> 
> I'm angel-ascending on Tumblr if you want to stop in and say hi!


End file.
